


Hot to the Touch (Worried on the Inside)

by Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace



Series: Tumblr Prompts [4]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Parenthood, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt, it's so fluffy imma die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:38:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8487859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace/pseuds/Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace
Summary: It’s not the first time one of the kids has had a fever. Bronx always broke out into fevers when he was an infant, and Saint was a pretty healthy baby, too.But with Declan…both Pete and Patrick knew something was off .***************************Prompt: Imagine your OTP with their first, young kid (like 1 year old) and the kid gets sick for the first time and your OTP doesn’t know what to do, so they call their parents and whatever happens next is up to you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on a fluff streak right now after 'By Carousel Lights'.
> 
> This fic isn't beta'd as it was written in a spur of the moment. That being said, all mistakes are mine!
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s not the first time one of the kids has had a fever.

Bronx always broke out into fevers when he was an infant, and even through his toddler years, but as he grew older, they were few and far in between, often going unnoticed considering how active the blonde little boy was. (Patrick would be the first to scoff, _like father, like son._ )

Saint was a pretty healthy baby, too. He only had less than a handful of fevers, again, each going unnoticed, and when they tried to get the little boy to take medication, he would simply pout and turn his head at the pink liquid in the spoon, or crawl away as fast as his chubby little arms and legs could take him.

But with Declan…both Pete and Patrick knew something was _off_.

Declan and Saint are usually up and about early in the morning, often babbling with each other through their separate cribs, almost like a morning conversation of sorts. Out of their trio of children, those two were always the first to wake, and, like clockwork, Pete would gather the two babbling ‘almost’ toddlers, change each, and bring them to the living room where they would play in their little play area, while Pete started coffee and breakfast, all the while keeping a watchful eye until Bronx and Patrick joined them.

Except this morning, Bronx was the one to wake first. Out of instinct, he sleepily made his way over to his baby brothers’ room, rubbing his fist to his eye, warding away sleep in typical Wentzian fashion. Carefully opening the doors, he was greeted by the usual babble of Saint, making a soft noise at the sight of his older brother. “Morning Saint!” Bronx greeted, going over to the crib and sticking is finger in Saint’s line of sight, smiling at a chubby little hand reached out, grasped his finger and brought it to his mouth. “Eww! Saint….really? That’s gross,” Bronx giggled, easing his finger out of his younger brother’s mouth and giving his favorite stuffed koala.

Once stated, and reduced to soft cooing, Bronx moved from Saint to Declan, a grin on his face as he peered into his youngest brother’s crib. “Good morning, Declan!” Bronx greeted softly, reaching his hand between the bars of the crib to stroke the baby’s hair. However, the smile slowly slipped off of the 6 year-old’s face as his fingers lingered on Declan’s head, and then carefully moving his fingers down his cheek. Declan was hot…hotter than he usually was, and his face was flushed red, and he looked like he was crying…and he was breathing a little weirder, too. Not to mention he looked super tired. 

Hazel brown eyes full of concern, Bronx peered in closer to the youngest of his brothers. “Declan?” he asked quietly, his hand moving to grasp the baby’s chubbier one. “Are you not feeling good, Dex?” The baby made a noise, it sounded tired and weak, not his usually happy or upset sounds Declan has been known for. “Imma go get Patrick and Daddy,” he whispers, quickly leaving the room.

Bronx is quick to make his way over to his fathers’ bedroom, quietly pushing the door open to see the familiar sight of his dad’s back tattoo, the lock in between his shoulder blades that brought together his necklace of thorns. With about as much ninja like stealthness a 6 year old could muster, he tiptoed his way around the bed, until he was on Patrick’s side, one of his dad’s tattooed arms around Patrick’s waist, both men sleeping peacefully.

“Patrick…Patrick!” Bronx called out softly, reaching out to place on hand over his step-father’s, shaking it lightly. “Patrick!”

With a groan, Patrick yawned and blinked his eyes open, squinting at the blonde standing at the side of his bed. Drunk on sleep Patrick mumbled out, “Wha?...Bronx?” His hands came to press against his eyes, trying to will away from of his sleep, as Pete’s arm around his waist tightened as he snuggled closer into the singer’s back. “Buddy what time is it? You okay?”

“Somethings wrong with Declan…” he said to Patrick, which caused the strawberry’s blonde eyes to snap open, and begin to sit up, despite his husband’s mumbled protest. “He feels really, really hot, Patrick…he’s breathing funny.” Patrick was quick on his feet, reaching out his glasses on the nightstand before following Bronx back to the babies’ room.

Saint made a soft cooing noise as Patrick entered the room, moving to greet him with a kiss before going over to Declan’s crib, his heart racing as he took in the infant, flushed cheeks, tired eyes, and wheezy breathing. As carefully as he could he lifted Declan into his arms and cradled him to his chest, feeling the baby’s warmth radiate through the thin shirt he had worn to bed.

“You’re burning up, Declan,” Patrick mutters, his heart roaring in his ears, as the baby in his arms makes a sad and exhausted noise. Kissing his forehead, feeling overheated skin under his lips (it’s beginning to terrify him, he can’t recall a time Bronx or Saint ever felt this warm), he turns to Bronx, who is by Saint’s crib, keeping him occupied, before calling out to the six year old.

“Buddy, I need you to do me a huge favor,” Patrick starts, moving to the other side of the room to the changing table. “Under the sink in the restroom, there’s a white box, the first aid kit. I want you to open it and bring me the thermometer in there okay? As quickly as you can Bronx,” he says, trying not to sound too urgent to scare the oldest of his sons. Bronx nods before flying out the room, leaving Patrick and Declan at the changing table and Saint in his crib, the ear of his stuffed koala in his mouth, sucking on it gently.  

“Let’s get you out of this onesie Dex,” Patrick says, smoothing his hand over the baby’s fine hair before making quick work of his thin onesie, changing his diaper for good measure. Just as he finishes, Bronx comes running back in, hair wild and messy, but with a small smile and the thermometer in hand. “I found it Patrick!”

The singers smiles down at Bronx, ruffling the six year olds hair. “Thanks, buddy,” he says, taking the thermometer and turning it on before carefully trying to stick it underneath Declan’s tongue. Bronx watches with a worry written in his eyes when Declan doesn’t fight against the thermometer, not like how he and Saint usually do, and to see the youngest of his brothers be so placid and not even fuss like usual, scares him.

Patrick could see it too, and as he hold the thermometer in place, his hand comes to rub smoothing circles over Declan’s tummy, fingertips dancing along the warm skin before tracing face up to his cheeks, humming a melody he had been working on for a new song to the feverish baby, and to the worrying six year old keeping watch.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Both Patrick and Bronx turn to the door to see Pete up and awake, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before yawning. He doesn’t have on a shirt but he’s in the basketball shorts he uses to sleep in, and his hair, is sticking out in every which way. His warm brown eyes flash with concern as he sees both his oldest son and Patrick at the changing table, with Declan only in his diaper, looking flushed.

Before either Bronx or Patrick could respond, the thermometer beeps three times. Patrick carefully pulls out the stick and reads the number, cursing under his breath at the result. _101.6 degrees_ That was high, too high to be a two hour fever, and Patrick’s heart races even faster than before.

“Declan’s running a fever,” Patrick says softly, picking up the baby and bringing him to his chest. “101.6,” his voice shakes as he says the number.

Pete quickly makes his way over to Patrick and Declan, letting his hand spay over the infant’s back before kissing the back on his head. “Shit Patrick, he’s burning up, babe.” There’s real concern in his voice, and he could see Patrick’s worry radiating off of him as he clutches Declan tighter to his chest. “What do we do? Should we take him to the doctor?”

“I don’t know…” says Patrick softly, looking down at his child in his arms. He looks exhausted, tired, eyes drooping, and it breaks his heart to see his child like this. “It takes us forever and a day at the doctors, especially when he do walk-in appointments, but if it’s serious…”

“Hey, hey,” calms Pete, moving a hand to Patrick’s cheek. “Just breath, Patrick, don’t over think this. Look, we need a second opinion, before we do anything, maybe calling one of our moms…” Pete could see the panic in the singer’s eyes, could see the way his mind was working overtime, worried sick about Declan.

Patrick nods before carefully handling Declan off to Pete, who wrapping him securely tattooed arms, as he talked to the baby. “Not feelin’ all that great today, huh?” Bronx stayed close to Declan, ever the big brother as Patrick moved to the other crib and pick up Saint, kissing the top of his head (not a warm of Declan’s, his was scalding to the touch, and placed him next to Bronx and Pete on their play mat, stuffed animals and toys littering the colorful play space.

Patrick quietly made his way out of the room and down the hall into their own bedroom, trusting that Pete could manage with Saint and Declan with Bronx’s help.

Disconnecting the phone from its charger, Patrick searched for his mother’s contact and pressing it with ease, letting the familiar ring fill the slight worried filled tension in the air.

_“Hello?”_

“Hey Mom,” Patrick started smiling a little into the phone.

_“Ricky! How are you, Sweetie?”_

“Good, good,” he started, but then paused. “Well, actually…I’m kinda freaking out a little and I need some advice before I do something over the top.”

 _“Uh hmm…what’s going on?”_ His mother asked easily from the other line.

Patrick sighed, letting himself sink onto the edge of the bed. “Declan’s running a really high fever…”

 _“Oh no,”_ his mother breathed. _“How high?”_

“101.6” He hears his mother hum over the phone, clearly thinking, his hear racing a little.

_“Is he throwing up? Diarrhea?”_

“No, I changed him and he was fine, he’s just…not like he normally is .He’s really groggy but he’s responsive to Pete and I…”

He hears his mother soft chuckle over the phone. _“He sounds exactly like you when you got sick.”_ And then, a sudden crash of relieve washed over him at her words, and he couldn’t help but echo with his own chuckle.

“Well, Pete does say he’s my mini-me.”

“ _Right down to the expression he makes when you stop playing a song he likes,”_ his mother adds, and Patrick smiles, can’t finding it in himself to either confirm or deny it.

“He’ll be okay?” he asks almost childishly over the phone, his mother humming on the other line.

_“I believe so. Try giving him a warm bath, not cold. Or a even wipe him down with a cool towel, nothing ice cold, that will only make his temperature go up more. Also try to make some sugar-free jello with some Pedialyte –that will keep him hydrated just in case.”_

Patrick lets the suggestions settle in his mind, nodding as he mentally jots down note. “So no doctor?”

_“If he’s not throwing up or looking dizzy, you’ll be in the clear, but if you really think you need to take him, follow your gut, Patrick. It might be best to let the fever run its course. Declan might get fussy, you always did when you had a fever. Keep checking his temperature throughout the day. If it gets to 103, go to the doctor. If you want to give him Baby Tylenol to help the fever you can too.”_

“Yeah,” he says at last when he years three familiar giggles from down the hall. “I think we’ll give him the Tylenol and give him a bath…we’ll keep an eye on it. It’s just…” he stops himself before closing his eyes, fiddling with the gold wedding band on his finger. “I just worry. Usually it’s not this high with Saint on Bronx, and I guess I’m just freaking out a little.”

_“It’s normal to overreact, Ricky. Not to worry. I’m going to text you that jello recipe, so you can try tonight. Keep his fluids up. “_

“I will. Thanks Mom.”

_“Always Sweetie. Tell Pete I say hi and give Bronx, Saint, and Declan big kisses for me. Love you”_

“Love you too.” Patrick set his phone back down on the nightstand before making his way back to the Saint and Declan’s room. Standing in the door way, he took in the sight of Saint squealing in delight as Bronx animatedly played with another one of their stuffed toys in a sort of puppet performance. All the while Pete was sitting crisscrossed on the floor, Declan reclining against his chest, his eyes not as hazy as they were before as he watched his brothers. In his little grasp a stuffed bunny with lop-sided ears, one of them in his mouth as Pete tenderly holding him close and bass calloused fingers brushing through his fine hair before laying a soft kiss to his head before turning to his attention to Saint and Bronx.

Even through the worry, his heart melted at the sight of his family, of his husband and their sons. He stood there for another moment, until Pete caught sight of him, his beautiful brown eyes crinkling at the edges as he grins, motioning for the singer to join them.

“What you’re mom say?” Pete asked gently as Patrick settled beside him, leaning his head on the older man’s shoulder.

“That I might be best to let it run its course. He looks a little better than before, though. She to keep an eye on his temperature, that if it gets higher, then we take him to the doctor, or if he starts throwing up.”

Pete nodded, looking down at the fair haired child in his lap. “He’s wanting to play, but I think he knows he can’t so he’s just a little bit fussy and just ‘blah’, right Dec,” he asks to the child, rubbing his palm over Declan’s tummy, who makes a little noise. Pete smiles. “Just like your daddy when you’re sick huh?”

It’s Patrick’s turn to laugh. “Mom said the exact same thing.” He looks over at Saint and Declan giggling and laughing madly before turning to Declan. “I’m going to give Declan some Tylenol and a bath to help with the fever.”

Pete nods. “I’ll make eggs and pancakes, while you do that.” Both men stand, catching the attention of Saint and Bronx. Pete hands Declan to Patrick, and bends to pick up Saint from his spot on the floor. “Let’s go make breakfast boys.”

Bronx looked over at Declan resting quietly against Patrick’s chest as he put some of the toys away in the basket.  “Is Declan going to be okay?” worry laced in his words.

Patrick nodded, using one hand to ruffle his hair. “Yeah, he just needs some medicine and a bath, and just a little be of extra love today.”

Bronx smiled before turning to Pete. “Can we have chocolate chip pancakes?”

“Only if you help me make them.” Bronx raced out of the room and into the kitchen, leaving both men to laugh.

“I’m going to get this one his bath,” Patrick smiled, kissing Declan’s head. Pete nodded and followed his eldest son into the kitchen, Saint perched on his hip.

Later that evening, Declan, Saint, and Bronx were eating cherry jello while watching Ghostbusters, Declan’s temperature had dropped to a relatively safe number, his little body fighting off the fever as best as it could.

“Looks like he’ll be back to normal tomorrow,” Pete mentions as the movie plays, running his hand over his head, feeling for any sign of excessive warmth.

Patrick nods in agreement, watching as Declan brings a hand full of jello to his mouth. “Yeah, thank God.”

“Hey,” Pete calls out softly. Patrick looks up, blue-green eyes meeting Pete’s own, his face soft from the light of the movie screen. “I love you.”

Something in the singer soften before he leans in to kiss Pete lovingly, feeling a sense of safely and completeness knowing that their children were happy and _healthy_.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to get some fluff out before I start throwing myself into the pool of angst that is "In the Breaking" and "Come and Save Me" and this came out. It was too adorable to pass up and I'm a sucker for domestic Peterick fluff.
> 
> Kudos, comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated. Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
